On my last night at home, I was in the laundry room ironing clothes when my mother stomped in, looking pissed at the world. Jim followed closely behind her. As they argued, I sat the iron down and tried to slink out the door without being noticed. When Jim suddenly yelled, “Fuck,” my spine stiffened and I looked over my shoulder to see him shaking his hand and pointing to the iron. “Look what the fuck you did, you fat ass! You left the iron sitting right in the middle of the floor and caused me to burn my hand. I bet you did it on purpose, you conniving bitch!”

I closed my eyes, feeling tears prickle behind the lids. “I…I’m sorry.” Suddenly, Jim’s anger switched from my mother to me. I was terrified and started trying to back away from him.

“Where the fuck you think you’re going?” As Jim advanced on me, my mother slid by and out the door, never looking back. I knew there would be no help from her. When had there ever been?

When Jim grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt, he jerked so hard I felt the thin cotton tear. As I tried to hold the shirt together, he ripped it from my body; snapping my neck painfully. I crossed my arms over my bra, repeating over and over, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry, you lying cow. You intentionally left that iron there, hoping I’d burn myself.” Spittle flew onto my face as he spat the words at me. When a cruel smile turned up the corners of his mouth, my blood ran cold. Oh, God, I knew that smile. My arms tightened around my breasts, trying to cover myself as I shook in fear. “Don’t you worry about me touching those big tits; you disgust me. What I’m gonna give you, girl, is a reminder of what happens when you fuck with me. You want to burn me and think you can get away with it? It’s time you learned a lesson you’ll never forget.” He turned me away from him, keeping a strong arm around my waist before leaning over to pick something up. He jerked my long ponytail aside, making my scalp sting. Suddenly, my back between the shoulder blades was on fire. I gasped in agony, trying to pull away. The smell of something horrible stung my nose, and as the room started spinning, it hit me; he was burning me with the iron. As oblivion rose, I heard him whisper in my ear, “Cows are always branded so they know who they belong to, and you’ll always belong to me.” I never felt my body make contact with the floor, and when I woke later, my back was still on fire, and I was alone. The bastard had marked me, and the years would never remove his brand from my body or my mind.

I slept in the park the first night I was on my own, and it was the best night I could remember having; I figured the odds of me being attacked were less than they would have been at home. I used the few dollars I managed to take from my mother’s purse to buy Tylenol. Luckily, the store also had a water fountain, and I downed four of them, hoping I wasn’t overdosing. My back was still in agony from the iron. The next day, I applied for a waitress job, and the owner Debra took pity on me and hired me. She also agreed to let me make payments to her weekly on the old Honda she had for sale. Finally, I had somewhere to sleep until school started in the fall. Debra also let me have my meals for free; I suspected it was because she knew I was homeless but never asked. Debra mentioned casually on my second day of employment that the truck stop down the street had showers for the truckers. Her boyfriend Martin owned the place, and she got me a voucher to use their facilities whenever I needed to. Between the truck stop and the laundromat, I had somewhere to spend time other than my car.

I had carefully avoided looking at my back and tried to keep water off it in the shower; a month went by and it no longer stung. On my break one day, I used the restroom at work and finally got brave enough to raise my shirt and turn my back to the mirror. “Oh, my God,” someone whispered behind me. I jerked around to find Debra standing there with murder in her eyes and her hand over her mouth. I pulled my shirt down, cursing myself for not hearing the door open. Debra walked over, pulling me against her. “Who did that to you, Lia?”

Tears started to seep down my cheeks. I wasn’t used to concern or affection, and the sorrow in Debra’s voice was enough to undo me. “It doesn’t matter,” I whispered back. “It’s over now.”

“Oh, baby girl,” Debra said. “It matters because I want to kick someone’s ass. You tell me who did this to you, and Martin and I will do the same damn thing to them.” When she pulled back, I could tell by the look on her face that Debra was deadly serious. In the time I had worked at the restaurant, I had bonded with the outspoken redhead and her boyfriend Martin. She studied my closed expression before releasing an angry breath. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” When I shook my head, Debra raised a hand to wipe away a stray tear from my face. “Is anyone after you now, baby girl?”

“No,” I whispered. “I’m on my own.”

“All right then,” Debra answered. “If anyone bothers you, or whoever the hell did this to you shows up, you tell me or Martin, okay?” I hugged Debra in way of reply and thanked God I had met her; I finally had someone in my life that cared whether I lived or died, and I’d never forget it. As we walked back out into the restaurant and I returned to my job, I tried to block out what I had seen in the bathroom. As promised, Jim had indeed branded me, and the horribly scarred flesh on my back would always be a reminder of a Hell I had barely escaped. Only my dreams would haunt me now because I vowed to never let him close to me again.

Working and being away from Jim had also allowed me to return to my normal eating habits, and the extra weight I had gained for protection had fallen away, leaving a girl I hardly recognized staring back in the mirror. I was slowly returning to the petite size I had always been and was grateful I didn’t appear to have done long-term damage to my body. It was a sad testament to my former life that now, even homeless, I was the happiest I’d ever been. Debra had tried to convince me to move in with her and Martin, but I had refused; I didn’t want to be a burden to them, and I was getting by. I worked mostly nights, so sleeping in my car seemed much safer during daytime hours. I also caught naps in the break room at the restaurant some days.

I hoped I could save enough money by the time school started for living expenses, since my grades won me a full scholarship. God, how naive I had been. My small amount of savings was gone by the end of the first semester, and I had no idea what I was going to do.

St. Claire’s requires that all students live on campus for the first two years. Unfortunately, that wasn’t part of my scholarship; neither was transportation, the cost of books, and other fees. The small, two-bedroom apartment I shared with Megan for a year, and now with Rose, was much cheaper than most apartments, but still expensive. Money had trickled through my hands like water.